


The Strength to Find Another Way

by auselysium



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, M/M, Trigger Warning: depression, WIP, aaron has a boyfriend, because we love our trashmouth, jealous robert, like omg angst, robert is better but he's still an asshole, robert is jealous, trigger warning: talk of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4424579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auselysium/pseuds/auselysium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As for me, what did I find during my 379 days at HM Prison Liverpool?</p><p>A cruel awakening.  Loneliness.  The unexpected help of a stranger.  Penitence.</p><p>And, finally, at the very rock bottom, my sorry self.</p><p>(Or what happens after Robert returns to Emmerdale after serving time for all his crimes in the wake of the events at the lodge.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing in 1st person. Wish me luck!
> 
> Canon through the July 23rd, 2015 episodes.
> 
> Warnings for discussion of depression, suicide. It's dark but trust me there will be light at the end.

Some men find Jesus.

Some experiment with sex in a way they never had or would have done before.  While others find sanctuary with drugs, smuggled in through corrupt workers or the underside of food trucks.

Some men find even darker, more ominous friendships that allow them to continue their lives on the wrong side of the law even from the inside.

As for me, what did I find during my 379 days at HM Prison Liverpool?

A cruel awakening.

Loneliness.

The unexpected help of a stranger.

Penitence.

And, finally, at the very rock bottom, my sorry self.

*

Involuntary manslaughter, tampering with a crime scene, perverting the course of justice, possession of an unregistered firearm, discharging an unregistered firearm, GBH, arson, etc. etc. etc.

The list had been thorough, horrifying and entirely true.

I’d pleaded guilty. Cooperated with the police and the lawyers. That had helped my cause.

By the time my sentence had been commuted, the time reduced from the original ten years down to just two with the possibility of early release for good behavior and counseling, I couldn’t even bring myself to care.

One year or the rest of my life, it hadn’t mattered anymore. There was nothing left.

A marriage, over.

A lifestyle, no longer mine.

A family with their backs firmly turned.

An intense love, eviscerated.

*

People had told me: “Prison’s no place for a lad like you.”

Well, they had been right. Prison is no place for a lad like me.

I'd tried to slink into the corners, avoiding everyone’s eye even when I stuck out like a sore thumb. I’d left my scalp itching and my skin rank, too afraid of being caught alone in the showers. I hadn't eaten for nearly five days, having neither the bravery nor the stomach to venture into the dining hall.

With my life reduced to utter humiliation and fear, there had truly been no where else to go.  No vanity to protect.  No status to uphold.  No vision of what my life was supposed to be because my life was worthless.

It was at this very lowest, demoralizing bottom that I met Dr. Eliza Emory for the first time and the dust my life had been ground into began to take shape again.

*

Slowly of course.  And stubbornly.

“So how are you transitioning into daily life, Robert?”

She was young, beautiful and fresh out of school. But she let none of these things detract from her authority. Our collective souls were to be cleansed under her guidance. To her, our salvation had been a certainty and not a question.

I had stared blankly at her that first session, assuming the black, puffy state of my left eye and bloodied knuckles on my right hand would be answer enough to her question. (For as much as I’d tried, my volatile mouth had found a way to get me in trouble, yet again.)

When I had remained obstinately silent she had continued.

“You know, part of your rehabilitation will be to come to terms with what motivated you to act the way you did.”

“I know why I did it.”

“Care you share, then?” She had asked, her eyes narrowing, head tilting in an analytical way that was still somehow warm.

But the reason why I’d found myself pushed up against a wall of my own creation time and again, forced to make more threats as I tried to maintain a hold on my perilous life, even as I watched myself get buried deeper and deeper into a hole with no way out by my never ending string of lies and manipulation, all while I pushed away the only person in my life that had actually been real, was the exact same prideful, vain, hateful reason I refused to answer her question then.

I needed the control.

“Unless you forgive yourself for what you’ve done, there is no chance anyone in your life will the do the same upon your release.”

I’d laughed.

“There is no one left in my life to forgive me.”

*

Being arrested had almost been a relief.

The events that unfolded in the lodge had been a breaking point and had left me ill. Had I really fallen so low? Was threatening someone I loved so keenly really the kind of man I’d become?

I hadn’t even known what I was doing, really. Nothing had been intentional. It was all just acting. Reacting. Panicking. Never thinking things through.

So much fear. So much hurt. So out of control.

And yet I’d kept going. Kept pressing. Kept pointing that gun. Kept convincing myself that it was all ok because I’d never meant for it to go this far and I was only doing it because I had no other choice.

But worst of all, I kept getting away with it.

My blood still runs cold at the thought of how much worse things could have been had a head, calmer than mine or Aaron’s, not prevailed that day.

Once it was all out though, once every last dirty deed was laid out in the sun and once everyone hated me just as much as I hated myself, being sent down was like claiming bankruptcy on my life, a chance to clear away all the scum and trash and wretchedness I’d created and start again.

I hadn’t seen it at first, but Dr. Emory had.

“There is no way I go back from this,” I’d said.

That session hadn’t been the first with tears.

“You’ve said yourself that all the behavior leaving up to your arrest, it hadn’t felt like you.”

She’d made it sound like a question but I hadn’t answered.

“Then you have to prove to everyone in your life that that is true. It’s all about the choices we make, Robert. Find a way to make the right ones this time.”

*

The day of my release, I slipped into real clothes for the first time in over a year. The worn denim of my old jeans felt like the most luxurious fabric in the world. The act of buttoning up a shirt, meditative. I’d almost forgotten the feel of a belt buckle being synched tight or the satisfying weight of a well-heeled shoe.

As I walked through the front door in the light of a warm summer afternoon, that cliche feeling of taking my first steps as a new, free man with the sun on my back had felt embarrassingly true.

I felt like I was meeting my old self again - not Robert Sugden of Home Farm, but the lad I’d been before - before mum died, before the car crash with that stupid stolen car, before I’d manipulated my way up the ladder at Lawrence’s company, before I’d married Chrissie and hidden my relationship with Aaron.

I’d felt like I truly had a second chance.

Apparently, I’m not the only convict in history to suffer from “daddy issues” or “sexuality issues” or “control issues.”

And those things didn’t make me broken. They didn’t make me special. They just made me _me_.

The world didn’t owe me anything for having a shit father. And the world wouldn’t pity me for being gay.

Through days and weeks and months of work with Dr. Emory, I’d realized I just needed to keep my head down, live truthfully and see what of my old life could be rebuilt.

Dr. Emory had walked me to the front gate. I like to think she was proud of me by the end.

“You’ve done good work, Robert. You have my card if you need me, anytime, any hour,” she’d said as her thin fingers pressed strongly around my forearm.

We weren’t friends, as that sort of bond was frowned on, but I trusted her. A stranger. That this bond had even formed was an indication of just how deep in the woods I was when I’d arrived. And how far I’d been able to come back out.

“Do you know who is coming to pick you up?”

I’d left a message at the pub when I’d found out about my release but had never heard back from Diane.

“No idea.”

The answer, as it had turned out, had been no one.

There had been a cab, however, its driver leaning on the door his cap pulled over his eyes.

“You Robert Sugden?” He’d asked as I’d approached. “In with you, then.”

I’d sat in the back seat, trying not to regress back to the day I’d arrived, laden with the feeling of total abandonment. I tried not to let my disappointment turn to bitterness or hatred. Reminded myself that the only opinion about my self worth that mattered was my own.

“Where to, then?” The cabby had asked.

Even with Dr. Emory’s affirmations ringing in my ears, I realized anywhere would have done. There had been no obligation to return to Emmerdale and face those demons. I definitely considered asking him to take me to the closest train station and from there, anywhere. But instead I said, “Can I you tell me who sent you?”

“No idea. But,” he’d reached for a piece of paper off the dashboard with a grunt. “The last name on the credit card is Livesy.”

The breath had frozen in my chest.

_Aaron sent the cab?_

Emmerdale Village, it was.


	2. Chapter 2

There was no homecoming party. No welcome back pint at the Woolie. But both Vic and Diane were waiting for me when I knocked on the back door of the pub.

Victoria had hugged me and Diane had placed two hands on either side of my face, tutting about how I looked thin.

Both gestures had felt a little forced and awkward, but they had both felt like a kind of acceptance.

“Andy’s doing well in Scotland. The kids have adjusted and he’s met a lovely girl named Maureen, real darling young thing. ”

Diane prattled on nervously about my adopted brother’s new life there as if I already had a basis of knowledge about how his new life. As if there had been letters or phone calls or even a single visit from anyone while I’d been sent down to confirm what I’d always feared: that when my life had broken apart, I’d broken his too.

She mentioned, only briefly, the new family managing Home Farm as she fussed over the tea. “They’re a proper Yorkshire farming family. In their blood, you know? Doing some agro-tourism, people staying on the estate and getting a feel for farm life, all very exciting.”

A silence had fallen then.

Victoria, bless her, took over then, filling me in on Adam and the scrap yard’s continued success.

“And… so how’s Aaron?”

I’d felt no need for pretense. Everyone knew the whole sordid tale. That we’d been lovers. _Loved_.

“He’s still on full time at the scrap yard but he spends a lot of time in Manchester now, weekends and such.”

“Manchester? That's an awful drive.  What's he doing there?” I’d asked.

They’d only needed to share one uneasy look for me to understand. My eyes had fallen to my tea cup. “Oh.  Right.”

“His name is Geoff. He’s head chef at a place on Canal Street.”

“Geoff the chef. Seriously?” I’d scoffed.

“He’s good for him,” Vic had said and it had sounded as defensive as it had apologetic.

“Of course he is.”

Because anyone was better than me. And I knew it.

*

After a heated but hushed exchange in the kitchen while I’d pretended not to be listening, Diane had asked me stay with her.

“Family is family, pet. And we Sugden’s would be in a sad state if we turned our backs on every one of our own who’s made mistakes, even yours.”

While her usual warmth had been missing, the relief that some relationships would be given the chance to be salvaged had been overwhelming.

I cried myself to sleep that first night, so amazed to feel safe and decadent under a down duvet cover in the room that had been Chas’s before she moved down the street and in with her latest fellow. Even in my ex-lover’s mother’s room, I had slept like a baby.

I drank coffee with real cream the next morning. Sipped a lager then a cider then a Scotch the next night. I spent hours on my laptop and otherwise lavished in the reality that while my life was going to be drastically different from here forward, it was also mine again.

*

Five days on, Diane had caught me in the hall after another luxuriant shower.

“Lunch rush is on,” She’d said. “Time to start earning your keep.”

“Pulling pints at your pub? Me? You really think that’s a good idea?”

I’d asked out of concern for her business, not my ego.

“You can’t hide in here forever.”

That hadn’t really been an answer.

Regardless, I began working behind my stepmother’s bar instead of managing my father in law’s multi-million pound business.

As I got used to the work, I also got used to the way that each villager, upon seeing me stood there behind the bar, would freeze in their tracks, give me a long appraising look before otherwise keeping their mouth politely shut, save ordering their pint.

Some would nod with a cautious half-smile as I’d hand the glass over the bar. Others would even inquire as to my well being, courtesy as well as curiosity. I’d answer with a sincere smile and with humility.

Of course, others had chosen to be not so kind.

“Oh, this is just fantastic,” Ross had said slowly, spreading his hands wide across the bar, his bearded face pulled into a massive smirk.

“Careful, Barton,” I’d said with wry smile. “People will think you’ve missed me.”

“Not you, just the spoils of your employment,” he’d whispered, leaning in close.

“Well, I’ll be happy to tell my parole officer all about your plight, if you’d like?”

I’d winked and slid his pint down the bar.

*

I’d known that our paths would cross, as they are bound to do in a village the size of a teaspoon. And in some ways I’d welcomed it.

The last time Aaron and I had shared a room that hadn’t been a courtroom, he had been listing all the gritty details of our affair to my wife. The last words he had spoken to me directly had been filled with hatred and months of built up resentment finally unleashed.

That had made the waiting cab all the more shocking.

When he’d walked into the pub, grinning and laughing, the evening of my very first day, I wasn’t prepared for it and certainly hadn’t expected it.  I assumed it would be soon, but so soon?

I definitely hadn’t expected the tall drink of water, dark mop of hair and a bit of scruff Australian accent presumably going by the name of Geoff that walked in behind him.

However, just as I had expected, Aaron had frozen, mid-stride at the sight of me, dropping his hand away from where his fingers has been tangled with Geoff’s at the small of his back.  
  
He hadn’t looked angry or disgusted by the sight of me. He hadn’t sneered, which is what I thought he would have done considering the state of things the last time I’d seen him. He just... looked. Almost as if trying to decide how to feel. He’d flinched at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice, eyes snapping from mine to his then back again.

Aaron had said something to him, probably about a table and getting the drinks in then walked over to me.

“I heard you were back,” He’d said, his voice familiarly rough. He rested his forearms on the bar, hands clasped.

“And I have you to thank for that, don’t I?”

His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths as he’d eyed me steadily.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back otherwise.”

“Neither was I."

He looked over his shoulder at where Adam had joined Geoff at a table and said, “A pint, then, if you’re serving.”

“And for the boyfriend?”

Those words couldn’t help but sound cold and jealous and hurt, even though I hadn’t planned for them to.

“Stout,” He’d said, swallowing nervously.

*

So, I’ll admit to watching the two of them together that evening. Between refilling pints and drying glasses, I’d simply not been able to help myself.

Aaron had looked...well, he’d looked amazing. His face was clean shaven and chiseled. He seemed younger somehow, but perhaps it was just that he had looked so happy that night.

I watched the gentle interplay between them. Geoff was older by probably nearly ten years, with an easy, Continental style. He wore all the cockiness of success and experience, but he listened to Aaron with devout intensity, his dark eyes soft with warmth and affection.

Seeing them together hurt. There was no use denying it. It fucking hurt to see him so much better off.

I hadn’t allowed myself the luxury of missing him while I was inside. After all, any remnant of what we’d been to one another had been pulverised to nothingness just like every other relationship in my life long before my days as an inmate.

But with him sitting there - even in the shadow of our destructive history, his new flame sitting near by - it didn’t matter.

Miss him I had.

So no amount of Dr. Emory’s training could stop me when Aaron approached the bar, looking for their second round.

“Look, we can go if you want,” he had said.

The false grin had slipped onto my face so easily.

“Why would you need to do that?”

Aaron had glanced over his shoulder, looking quickly at Geoff who was eyeing our entire exchange wearily.

“This has got to be as uncomfortable for you as it is for me.”

“Aaron,” I’d said, slick and dismissive. “Why should it bother you? After all, you said it yourself, you never loved me.”

I’d only given myself a moment to savor the look of complete disbelief on his face, the staggering hurt at having his years old words tossed back in his face. Letting my glib smile morph into something more snide.

It had given me a small, infinitesimal victory over how much those words had destroyed me at the time.

I suppose in the end, you can reform the arsehole in prison, but he’ll still always be a bit of an arsehole.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Trigger warning: talk of past suicidal thoughts***

Seeing him - seeing _them_ \- something had snapped. Rewound.

But that smart-alec, destructive man wasn’t who I wanted to be any more. It wasn’t who I was ever, I hope.

Old Robert wouldn’t have batted an eye at the way I’d treated Aaron, though. I’ve obviously done far, far worse where he is concerned. Old Robert would have savored the power play and pretended like it had never happened the next time our paths crossed.

But this time, I played that moment over again in and again in my head, beating myself up each time for what I'd said and the unprovoked cruelty.

This time would be different. I would be different. Not only to him but to the world, so when I’d seen Aaron walking down mainstreet, coffee in hand the next day, I’d caught up with him, calling his name.

He’d stopped and looked, following the sound of my voice and I know he’d considered ignoring me when he saw who was calling him. But by some cosmic grace he hadn’t and instead slowed his pace so I could catch up.

“I’m sorry,” I’d said. “For what I said last night. You were right, it was uncomfortable for me.”

Aaron had given me sidelong look, full of caution and suspicion.

“Then again, my whole life is uncomfortable so...”

“Yeah, I remember how that can be,” Aaron had said, after swallowing a sip of his coffee. A sympathetic curve that couldn’t quite be described as a smile pressed his lips.

I hadn’t known where Aaron was headed, so I had just kept walking next to him. Past the pub, past the village hall, past Dingle and Dingle. People had watched, a bit dumbfounded by the sight of us together.

“You want to tell me about him?”

“Are you mental?” Aaron had squinted, as if trying to sort out the third head I’d just grown. I’d simply shrugged. This is what people did right? Exes talked about their new relationships to prove they were well adjusted and had moved on, even if they really haven’t?  When I'd made no indication otherwise, Aaron had started with a shrug.

“He’s got his life well sorted. Runs his own kitchen. Michelin stars and all that.”

I’d made an appropriately impressed face.

“Mum loves him.”

I’d snickered, rolling my eyes. “Of course she does.”

“Well he’s good for me, isn’t he? Not a lot of drama. Plus, he...he lost someone too a while back which is why Vic…”

Aaron had stopped. Whether it was because he noticed how much he was revealing or simply the fact that he was revealing it to me, I’ve never been able to figure out.

Either way, he’d wiped his hand over his face and shook his head with small definitive movements.

“I cant do this,” he’d said and walked away.

*

Days pass with no further encounters. Days become a week, then more. I don’t keep count, even though I do.

It was probably all for the best, in retrospect.

It had given me time to focus elsewhere.  To make tea for Diane who tucked into her food with a pleased smile as I’d tidied up the dishes. It allowed me to help Adam move a couch upstairs at his and Victoria’s new place, resulting in the three of us sitting on said couch with beers in our hands and actually sharing a laugh. The time had given me the chance, when I'd found myself the object of Emmerdale's latest new cougar in the village, to let her down gently, saying, out loud, in not so many words that she really wasn’t my type. That public statement of what Aaron had insisted for so long and so many suspected in the wake of the affair's reveal, had garnered a kind “Well done,” from Finn as he’d slipped past me into the kitchen.

I found memories to be blessedly short in Emmerdale and every day that I kept my head down, did my work, kept to myself seemed to prove to my family and those around me that I really had changed.

Every Tuesday at 2:45, I’d met with my new counselor. A proper therapist now actually, with a cushy couch in his office and a small water fountain in the lobby, making it sound like you were there for a spa day rather than some head shrinking.

“You’re doing well, Robert.” He’d said at the end of another meeting and I’d agreed.

Then one day, as Diane had been finishing her morning tea, she’d jumped from her chair.

“I completely forgot. This was slipped under the door last night for you. Found it when I woke up.”

It was a small envelope with my name written in Aaron’s blocky hand.

I’d opened it and my hands had begun to tremble.

It was a check with a number that once had been part of a day’s normal transaction but now seemed astronomical.

And I’d known exactly what it meant, too.

*

“You’re fucking buying me out?”

I’d thrown the check dramatically on Aaron’s desk, having barged into the much upgraded office space now located where the portacabin had once been.

“I’m buying you out,” He’d said calmly as he rocked back in his chair, fingers laced across his belly. He looked wholly unimpressed by my histrionics. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Pleased? My money no longer any good for you, then eh? You and Adam can have a record but god forbid one of your investors does...”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what? Just that eager to erase even the memory of me from your life? Why’d you bother sending that taxi then?”

“Stop it,” he’d snapped up at my fuming face. He’d stood. “Look, that’s the 10 grand you put in originally plus everything you made while you were gone, including the time you on trial. Nearly two years worth of returns.”

I had done the maths. Impressive.

“It’s a good chunk of money Robert. Maybe not by your old standards, but I recon it is now. I figured...” He’d picked the check up off the desk and shoved it towards me. “I figured you could use some money to get back on your feet.”

His voice had been quiet on that last statement, barely able to look me fully in the eye.

I’d taken a deep breath. Counted down from 10. Thought things through for a moment and felt myself calm down.

“If you leave 5 grand invested, you have a deal. You’re clearly sitting on a cash cow and I still want in, record or not.”

Aaron sat down and cut me a new check on the spot, a pleased smirk fighting for governance across his lips.

*

Come Tuesday the following week, I had been waiting for the bus into Leeds for another set of appointments with my therapist.

I missed my old cars. Correction, I _miss_ my old cars.

Soon enough the familiar shape of Aaron’s Volkswagen had come around the corner past the bus shelter. He’d slowed, backed up, rolled down his window. After our cursory, monosyllabic greetings he’d said, “Where you off to?”

“Therapy session.”

Aaron had tried to hide his surprise at my candor with a polite “Oh, right,” then added, “You want a lift?”

“What?”

“I’ve got the afternoon free.” He’d shrugged, looking down the road over his steering wheel and not at me. “Save you the bus fare, and all.”

I’d said 'yes' but mostly because I’d been too confused to say 'no'.

*

We barely spoke on the drive there, aside from pointing out directions or navigating the primo parking spot we got on the street right below the building.

“I’ll just wait here,” he’d said as I got out.

The drive home was similarly quiet. It had only been as his car idled outside the back door to the pub, the car in park, that Aaron had spoken up.

“So, is it working? The therapy?”

“Yeah,” I’d exhaled, still feeling the serenity of a long, private, privileged, conversation in my veins.

“Good,” He’d said, looking down at his hands. “I can...I can tell.”

I watched his profile, wondering why on earth he had wasted his afternoon on me, wondering what thoughts, what memories, were churning in that beautiful head of his.

“Why don’t you come in,” I’d said as the moments went on where Aaron gave no indication of wanting me to leave or of him wanting to go. “Pint’s on me to say thanks for the driving me.”

A heavy rush of air blew through his nose and his entire demeanor, from the set of his jaw to the narrowing of his eyes, changed.

“Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“I dunno,” I’d sat back, looking at him confused. “I thought we were…”

“We were what?” He’d snapped. Dared.

“Starting to get on?”

He’d laughed, that snide, derisive one he does when his anger is on the rise. “You really think,” He’d started, turning to me with an accusative finger accusing. “That after everything you’ve done, that we could ever ‘get on’?”

“Then what was all this then?” I’d asked, gesturing at the car around us, all the calm I’d felt previously replaced by embarrassment and frustration at his cold hearted rejection.

“You know what?” He’d said, pushing down the clutch and throwing the gear shifter into drive. “That’s a good fucking question. Now get out.”

*

I had been left feeling many familiar shades of irate. The kind that left me quietly fuming on the couch so much so that even Diane had noticed and given me a wide berth.

That was the first time I’d fished out the business card, still in the same place I’d left it in my newly requisitioned wallet on the day I’d left Liverpool.

She’d recognized my voice right away, which in in and of itself had started to calm me down. “Robert? Are you alright? What’s happened?”

And  like an addict with their sponsor or a sinner with their priest, I’d confessed.  “It’s Aaron.”

She’d sighed deeply into the phone.

Many of our sessions had revolved around him and our relationship. Why I’d started the affair in the first place, why I’d fought so hard to keep it a secret, it’s implications for my true sexuality. We’d rehashed my feelings and motivations the night at the lodge, analyzing them over and over so I’d never repeat them.

Because the thing Aaron doesn’t know, and probably never will, as unhealthy as that may be, is that the single bullet inside that gun - even as I’d pointed it at with threats of how far I could go, even as he’d dared me to kill him - that bullet had never been meant for him.

It had never been meant to graze a meddling Paddy’s arm.

It had been meant for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing keeps getting longer. 5 chapters now instead of the original 3!
> 
> And yes, the guy Aaron is dating is totally Geoff from RAW. I tried pretending it wasn't, but I've just stolen his character and put him in here. His storyline is lovely and worth a watch, if you haven't seen it. Heartbreaking, but worth it.


	4. Chapter 4

For days after, I’d felt tender and shaken. Not necessarily because of what had happened with Aaron but the memories that had been stirred awake because of it. His sudden harshness had been a reminder that what I’d done had been truly grotesque and had hurt many. Including myself.

Diane gave me a few days off to decompress. I’d laid on the couch trying not to let myself slip back into the ache of depression or the protection of pride.

When I finally went back to work at the pub, he’d been sitting at the end of the bar, my idiot (and I say that with the utmost affection, truly) brother in-law, laughing loud and raucous next to him. I’d stopped for a moment to ponder how those two managed to run a successful business as neither of them ever seemed to be working before pulling out a tea towel and wiping down the taps.

“So, mate, you finally going to come out with me and the missus tonight?” Adam had asked, clapping Aaron on the back so hard he’d nearly spilled his pint.

Aaron had looked at me without a word. Giving me that well practiced, detached look that still managed to drip with so much unshed emotion.

“Can’t, can I?” Only then did he look back at Adam. “Going to Manchester for the weekend. Geoff said he’s got something real special planned.”

“Oohoo, he finally going to put a ring on it?” Adam had joked.

But Aaron simply smiled coyly, knowing he had my eye and said, “Maybe.”

He’d said it just loud enough to ensure I had heard.

And I had. Loud and clear.

*

By Monday I’d found peace that things with me and Aaron were beyond repair. For truly to have hoped for otherwise was to have hoped for the miraculous.

The routine of work - simple and menial - at the pub was still rewarding somehow and I fell into the new week gratefully.

Come lunch time the crowd of usuals were there along with a face I’d seen less regularly upon my return, Debbie Dingle.

She’d sat directly across from me and leaned in close over the bar.

“What can I get you?” I’d asked.

“I hear you used to work at the garage.”

“Well, yeah, but that was...ages ago. I was barely 17 at the time...” I’d stuttered.

“Think you might want to come back? It would be the easy stuff mostly, oil changes, fluid top offs. No engine overhauls or break jobs, for you, just someone to keep the cars moving quickly through. What do you think?”

“I really don’t understand where this is coming from.”

“Look, I need an extra set of hands and you came highly recommended.”

“By whom?” I’d asked.

The from over at his corner of the bar, Ross Barton had piped up. “Oh, Aaron wouldn’t stop blathering on about how well you could handle a screw driver.”

Debbie had given him a massive eye roll but I’d barely felt the urge to retaliate.

“Aaron recommended me?”

Debbie had nodded. “He said I should definitely give you a go.”

Even as I thanked Debbie and told her I’d think about it, my mind was spinning once more, wondering what the hell Aaron was playing at.

*

He was easy enough to track down, taking his lunch at Keepers Cottage.

I’d tried not to visibly react to how strange it felt seeing Andy’s old home, redecorated. Especially considering it was decorated by two gay men and Carly Hope. Finn had clearly won the drapery battle.

I’d pushed past him and gotten straight to the point.

“You know, this whole hot cold game you’re playing, it’s getting real boring.”

Aaron had crossed his arms across his chest and given me a dry, confused look.

“‘Fraid I don’t follow.”

“One minute, you’re driving me to appointments, handing out cash, giving me job referrals and the next you’re telling me to do one and waxing on about getting engaged right in my face.”

I hadn’t been able to help it. My eyes had flitted down to check for a ring. Aaron had watched as we both noted his naked ring finger. He had snorted, cruely, eyes narrowed.

“Is this some sick game you’re playing? Some retribution for how things used to be? Tying me along? Pretending we might be mates and then shoving it my face that we never will be?”

“No, I’m not like you, Robert. I don’t mess with people just for fun.” He’d snapped, all aggression and bared teeth.

That had hit below the belt and I’d swallowed down my mounting hurt and rage. “Then what?” I’d said through clenched teeth, stalking ever closer to him. “You think I’m some sort of pet project? Poor, broken Robert needs my help even though I can’t stand the sight of him? Saint Aaron to the rescue again! I don’t want your pity, Aaron!”

“Then what do you want?”

The shouted words formed a loaded double entendre and we both knew it, our bodies as close as they were. When had we moved so close to one another? How were our breaths so ragged, our hearts so alive?

We’d stood there, eyes bright and locked, tiptoeing on that precipice we were so familiar with. The border between hate and love. Want and disgust. All those emotions that were fueled by the passion we once had, and in that moment realized always would, share.

Aaron had been the one to step back, but not without a single, stuttering breath coming from his lungs. “I don’t pity you.”

I gave him a look that said just how much I didn’t believe him.

“Maybe I did, during your trial. I saw how alone you were and I knew how much that had to be hurting you.” He stepped in close again, voice eager yet hushed that time. “But you were finally doing the right thing. You confessed, you worked with the police, told the truth on the stand, kept your head down while you were sent down...”

“How do you know that?” I’d interrupted.

“I’ve been inside too, remember? I have my ways.”

“So what,” I’d continued, not letting my thoughts linger on the fact that he’d had someone keeping tabs on me in prison. “All this help, is this my reward for being a good boy?”

Aaron’s eyes fell to the floor, his teeth nipping the inside of his lips as he thought.

“Just take the job, Robert,” he said, eventually. “Debbie’s a good boss and the pay is decent. I gotta get back to work.”

He’d grabbed his coat and had his hand on the door by the time I’d asked, “You still haven’t told me why you’re doing any of this.”

Aaron had looked at me, eyes full of that heart-on-the-sleeve emotion that is so easy for him.

“You know why.”

*

  
Things were, if anything, even less clear than they had been before.

But the over analyzation of Aaron’s motives or mood was pointless. The only thing I could be was consistent. Genuine. Be the man I’d remembered how to be inside and who I’d wished I could have been when we had first met.

Whether he chose to take or leave that offer of friendship was up to him.

Which was why when I saw him sitting alone at the coffee shop a few days later, looking lost in oceans of thought, I felt comfortable enough to approach him and ask what was going on.

He’d sat forward, hands clasped between his knees. Clearly he’d needed a moment to decide whether he was really going to tell me what was going on or not.

“Geoff’s asked me to move in with him.”

My eyebrows shot up my face. “Really? In Manchester?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, and? What did you say?”

“I dunno. I mean, my business is here, my family, my friends. It makes zero sense, but…” He’d shrugged, uncomfortably.

“You love him?”

“I suppose so, yeah.”

Had it been in that moment that I realized just how deeply in love with him I was still? Or had it been when I’d seen him smile at my stern business tactics that day at the scrap yard? Or the night he’d walked into the Woolpack looking fresh and alive? Was it the day I’d stepped into that cab and heard his name?

Or was it that I’d truly never stopped?

I fiddled awkwardly with the lip of my paper cup.

“Robert, I’m…”

“No, it’s fine,” I’d taken a deep breath, needing the fortification before I could look at him again. “You deserve to be happy, after everything you’ve been through with Jackson and with me... even though we were completely toxic and destructive, and I never treated you even close to the way you deserved or the way I would but I really did love you, even though you didn’t feel the same.”

His eyes, dark and laden, finally caught mine.

“I’m glad you’re happy. Truly.”

I’d left quickly after that. The warm morning sun that met me outside felt like mother nature's slap to the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 up tonight or tomorrow!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support of this story!


	5. Chapter 5

That night I’d fallen asleep on the couch with the telly volume turned way down low. I probably would have stayed there all night too, if not for the pounding on the door that had startled me awake just after midnight.

I’d stumbled towards the insistent knocking, my limbs still coming awake.

Aaron had pushed past me without a word. I’d spun around and watched him make a quick perusal of the sitting room.

“We on our own?” He’d asked.

The words were carefully formed, his movements having taken on a slightly lumbering quality, all signs I knew to read as him being mildly intoxicated.

I’d closed the door to the stairs. “Yeah, Diane’s asleep. Why?”

Before I even had time to rub the sleep from my eyes, Aaron had me slammed back against the door, smothering me with a rough kiss.

I was been struck stupid for a moment, motionless as he took control of me. But the lapse lasted no longer than a heartbeat before I caught up to the fact, that Aaron was here, giving me everything I’d missed, everything I’d wanted for so long. I’d moaned, helpless, melting into the feel and the touch and the taste of him.

My arms were pinned back, held steady at the biceps by his strong hands, and yet, I’d managed to lift my hands to cradle his elbows gently.

It was a tender touch, full of patience, and I waited for his kiss to respond, to morph into something more loving. But it never did.

This heated kiss, the one I’d dreamed of so many times, was too rough, too angry. It wasn’t what it should be. There was clearly something wrong.

“Aaron, Aaron,” I’d mumbled between kisses. I struggled against his steady hold. “Aaron, stop!” I’d said, finally gaining enough traction to push him away. “What are you doing?”

He stumbled back, wiping at his lips, his chest heaving. He paced a small circle on the floor and I could almost see his pending words bubbling up alongside his beautiful, angry tears, before they came boiling out.

“Of _course_ I bloody loved you!” He’d yelled and I’d felt pinned back against the wall again, stunned. “I loved you so bloody much, Robert. From that first time at the barn, until the very end, I was just done for. All I wanted was to be with you. Why do you think I put up with everything you did to me, eh? All the lying and the secrets. You think I would have done that if I didn’t love the shit out of you? I let myself be just your little pathetic bit on the side because I loved you so fucking much that I had myself convinced it was worth it. That you were worth all the lies and the secrets.”

I’d tried to speak, but nothing would come.

“Do you know that it physically hurt me to see you go to prison? I was sick to death at the thought of you...”

“I deserved it,” I’d whispered, my throat dry, my voice raw.

“Don’t…” He’d nearly whimpered.

“Oh come on,” I’d said, pushing myself off the wall. “We both know it’s true. And that’s not just my depression talking. After what I did to you, to everyone, I got off easy…”

“But you lost everything. Just like you’d been so afraid of all along.”

“Exactly,” I’d nodded. As I walked towards him, I could see the guilt in his eyes. I remembered being the one who had put a similar look there before. But this time, I’d had the ability and the want to take it away too.

“You know that night you told Chrissie about us, I was almost relieved.” Aaron took a step back from my approach, his brow confused. “Why do you think I didn’t try harder to stop you? You knew everything. There was no way I was going to go back to anything close to normal after what had happened. And the only way, the _only_ way, I was going to get my family back, my own bloody sanity back.” I’d caught his shoulders, grip steady but not hard. “The only way I was going to get _you_ back - was to let you rip my world apart. And you had. And you know what? I’d let you do it again.”

Aaron was breathless by the end. Tears flowing neatly down his face. I don’t think I’d ever wanted to kiss him more in my life. Something gentle and restorative for us both.

I could see the want in his eyes too, the way he lifted his chin just so, tilting his face to change the angle. But instead of leaning in, he’d pulled away, sliding down the back of the settee and landing on the floor with a heavy thump. I watched him cradle his head in his hands for a moment before joining him, resting my back against the wall opposite him. I stretched my legs, my bare feet resting by his hip, as he’d tucked his feet under him. Something about that setup had felt innocent, giving us room for honesty.

“Why’d you do it?” He’d asked, his words heavy and tired.

“Do what?”

“Any of it. All of it. Katie, Paddy. Me. Why? Was she really that worth it?”

“You know it was never about Chrissie,” I’d said sincerely.

“Then what?”

“I’ve told you before. And you were at the trial…”

“Tell me again,” he’d said, desperate.

I’d rested my head back on the wall, remembering so many nights awake where I’d been able to rationalize my way through what I was doing. Remembering so many afternoon sessions with Dr. Emory that made me understand those dangerous tendencies I had been working under during that time. I’d dampened down the disgust I still reflect inwards when I remember what I’d done.

“It was like an avalanche,” I’d said, keeping the analogy simple. “One lie led to another lie. Which led to something bad happening so I could keep the illusion of that lie alive which led to more lies which led to more threats...And before I knew it, I had done so many horrible things to people I cared about that if one thing came out, everything would be destroyed. Buried in that avalanche. Which, of course, it was.”

I’d swallowed thickly, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.

“I’m not a bad person, Aaron. I made so many bad choices, again and again. I was completely out of control, by the end, not healthy, trust me. I was just so afraid to lose what I thought was important that I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t.” I’d looked him, his expression complex. It had been my complete undoing. “But things are different now. I’m different. And I swear to you, it’ll never happen again.”

Aaron leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. Several minutes passed where I’d listened to Aaron’s stuttering breath as he gained control of his tears. I wiped quietly at my own.

He’d sighed slowly. Swallowed heavily.

“Ok.”

The word had come from a place of understanding and felt like a holy benediction .

“OK?” I’d asked as my heart raced.

Aaron had sniffled and looked at me. “I’m not saying I forgive you. Or that it was alright, what happened because it wasn’t. It isn’t. I’m just saying...ok.”

I’d nodded into the quiet that followed, full of relief. That simple, two letter word feeling like the most powerful word in the English language.

*

I’d love to say that was the end. Or our beginning. That that night was all it took for us to become lovers again. Or at least friends.

But what Aaron and I had - what we _have_ \- is so much more delicate and tenuous and complicated than that.

And it took us time and we stumbled.

Aaron didn't end up moving in with Geoff but they stayed together through Christmas. During that time we crept into a relationship that from the outside looked a lot liked friendship, but from within felt far more important. There weren’t raucous nights out or jovial games of footie on Saturday morning at the Pavilion, but there were half-quiet exchanges, questions about health and mind and the ever silent encouragement to keep striving that he imparted me with whenever we met.

On New Year’s Eve, I was filling in from my usual gig at the garage at the pub. Aaron came in just shy of midnight, sat down across from me and ordered his usual.

“On your own tonight?” I’d asked.

“Officially.”

“Oh,” I’d said, surprised by the news. “I’m sorry, mate.”

“It’s alright,” He’d said, taking his beer. “He wasn’t really my type, anyway.”

“And how’s that?”

“Everyone knows I prefer blonds.” He’d hidden a wicked smile behind his pint glass and my cheeks had flushed bright red.

*

Some days, even know, he gets moody and distant, as memories of past hurt find a way to creep into his current thoughts.

When they do, I give him space. I don’t press. I leave him be. There to talk when and if he’s ready.

I won’t lie, those times worry me. They make me afraid that maybe we can’t overcome all that has happened between us before. But then I simply let myself drift in the new memories we’ve created together and feel calm again.

It all began again one February Tuesday when we’d found ourselves on another trip into town for therapy. Snow had been falling gently, just enough to coat the leaves and the sheared off hay stalks but not enough not to make travel a concern.

Aaron had pulled over at a familiar stretch of country road, a layby filled with truth and memories for us. It had started here the first time too and I still wonder if he’d stopped there on purpose.

He’d turned off the car.

“Umm, what are we doing? My appointment’s in half an hour...”

“I’ll get there,” He’d said, his voice a bit teasing. “I have my own appointment afterwards to get to anyway.”

I’d looked at him confused and surprised. “You what?”

“You really think you’re the only one with a therapist? After what you put me through?  Please.”

He’d snorted good naturedly through his nose and only then had I realized he was taking the mick.

“Then why did we stop?” I’d asked and he’d kissed me. Simple and beautiful and pure.  As our lips had parted, his hand lingering on my knee, mine at his jaw, I’d still felt uncertain as to what it meant.

“You sure?” I’d asked. He’d stolen another quick kiss off my dumbfounded face.

“I think we got better odds this time, don’t you? And maybe I’m just one of those stupid idiots who think people deserve a second chance,” he’d said as he pulled back out onto the road.

“Or a third,” I’d shrugged.

“Or an eightieth.”

We had laughed, our fingers catching together on the gear-shifter as I’d settled back against the seat with an immense smile.

Laughing is easy now. Now that we have found another way back to each other. It wasn’t the easiest or shortest way and there was pain and suffering all along the path. But at the end of the day, when I come home to him and he smiles at me, full of love and promise, I know that it doesn’t matter how we got here.

Just that we did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you a million times for all the kudos, comments (here and on tumblr) and reblogs. I'm so happy people have liked this story.
> 
> It came from me being completely blind-sided by the lodge spoilers and having it really hamper my ability to write. What came out was something I feel is very true to character and is something along the lines of what I'd like to see for Robert on the show.
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for your support!


End file.
